Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.
Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?
[Hero swoons.
Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink you

down?

D. John. Come, let us go: these things, come thus to light,

Smother her spirits up.

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio.

Bene. How doth the lady?

Beat.

Dead, I think;-Help, uncle ;

Hero! why, Hero!-Uncle !-Signior Benedick!

friar!

Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand!

Death is the fairest cover for her shame,

That may be wish'd for.

Beat.

Friar. Have comfort, lady.

Leon.

Friar.

How now, cousin Hero?

Dost thou look up?

Yea; Wherefore should she not ?

Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly

thing

Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny

The story that is printed in her blood + ?——
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For did I think thou would'st not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,

[graphic][subsumed][subsumed][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,

Strike at thy life.

Griev'd I, I had but one?

Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?

O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates;
Who smirched 49 thus, and mired with infamy,
I might have said, No part of it is mine,
This shame derives itself from unknown loins?
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, she-O, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea

Hath drops too few to wash her clean again;
And salt too little, which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh!

Bene.

Sir, sir, be patient: For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,

I know not what to say.

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made,

Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!

Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie?

Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her; let her die. Friar. Hear me a little;

For I have only been silent so long,

And given way unto this course of fortune,

By noting of the lady : I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth :-Call me a fool;
Trust not my reading, nor my observations,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.

Leon.

Friar, it cannot be :

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left,

Is, that she will not add to her damnation

A sin of perjury; she not denies it;

Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness?

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of 5o ?
Hero. They know, that do accuse me; I know none:

If I know more of any man alive,

Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,

Let all my sins lack mercy!-O my father,

« VorigeDoorgaan »